


I Like You (Not Just On Facebook)

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uni AU. Dorian is social media obsessed hipster trash and he wants to ride Bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like You (Not Just On Facebook)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seazu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seazu/gifts).



> When you try to write surprise fanfic for the bae but ruin it because you have to keep asking them questions.  
> I have no knowledge of the Dragon Age world and very limited knowledge of a handful of the characters. And yet, here I am. Winging it.

Dorian pulls his tiny comb through his moustache, licking his fingers and using the slick to curl the edges of it upwards in an almost comical (but on him, definitely classy) twirl. He uses his teeth to catch the lid of his eyeliner, the stick emitting a _pop_ as he pulls it away from his mouth. He takes his time outlining his eyes in kohl, making sure the lines are thin and precise. His hair is already sprayed into a stiff, immaculate quiff upon his head. Dare the wind try and shift it, it would have no luck. Thank you, Schwarzkopf.

“Would you hurry up, you hipster piece of shit.” Cassandra's voice is accompanied by the surprisingly solid bang of her fist against the door. “I've been waiting twenty minutes to brush my teeth.”

“Perfect isn't easy, darling,” Dorian callsback in a sing song. “But it's meee.”

He smiles at Cassandra's sigh, stroking his eyebrows with a fingertip before he pops the lid back onto his eyeliner. Perfect, indeed. He breezes out of the bathroom, brushing the lightest kiss against Cassandra's cheek and ducking away from her irritated blows.

“Relax, babe. You don't always have to be such an angry lesbian.”

“I'm not-”

“Okay, okay, bifurious. Excuse me.”

Cassandra swallows a comeback, rubbing her hand over her face. She'd been living with Dorian long enough to know that usually, it just isn't worth it. Like fighting with a very decorative brick wall. Being flat mates has really stretched the boundaries of their relationship, but she's adapted, learned new coping mechanism for him. So she rolls her eyes and simply moves into the bathroom.

Dorian laughs, blowing her a kiss before he pulls on his satchel and sweeps out the door. He pauses once he's in the natural light, giving a quick glance around to make sure there's no one nearby. Then he spends two minutes getting the perfect selfie. He fires it up on snapchat and pops in his ear buds. He spends his journey to the library finding the perfect instagram filter.

*

“Hey, look out!”

Dorian glances up in time to see a ball heading directly for his face. His heart does a kind of stuttered, panicked jump in his chest. Adrenaline spikes through his veins. He raises a hand, magic sparking beneath his fingertips. Before it has the chance to break free, a large hand grasps the ball in mid air.

“Saved your life!” A very tall, very broad Qunari boy grins down at him. He has a silver septum piercing, startlingly blue eyes, and a lovely smile. His hair is a tuft of short dreadlocks along the middle of his head, the sides shaved around the two horns sprouting from them; long and thick and dark.

 _Probably not the only thing,_ Dorian thinks. He's so taken in by the sudden breathtaking appearance of this boy that he doesn't think to respond. Meanwhile, the boy is examining the green mist fading from his fingertips.

“Oh, you're one of those witches. That's cool.”

“Not the word I'd use, but as long as you think I'm... 'cool'.”

The boy's smile is so wide and genuine that Dorian is lost to it.

“Come on, Bull. Throw the ball.” His friends are looking towards him expectantly. There's one other Qunari among them, but mostly they're humans. How dull.

“Yeah, coming!” He looks back at Dorian once more with that easy grin. “Sorry about that.”

Dorian watches for a moment as he rushes off, before remembering he still has to post that photo.

*

Yik Yak post:

When a hot Qunari boy bangs into you but not in the way you'd like.

11 upvotes.

*

Dorian's cardigan is so oversized it comes right down to brush against the curve behind his knees. It is the dark burgundy of a good red wine and billows dramatically behind him when he walks. He watches his reflection in the shop windows as he passes, lips pursed around the straw of his Starbucks frappe. He'd spent his morning in the one in the SU, trying desperately to force himself to work on his English essay. Well. Desperately might be pushing it.

Instead he'd bought himself a set of famous artwork design socks and got into a bidding war over an absolutely gorgeous pair of ankle boots (black, leather, fur trim). Not the most productive morning, but at least in 3-4 working days his feet would look gorgeous.

He thought a degree in English Literature would come easy to him. He loved to read, could spend hours buried in a book, and that love and passion he had carried with him to university. He could still spend hours working his way through the three books a week he had for class, even when they were old or thick or downright boring. (God forbid such book blasphemy, but really, some of them were. Dreary and questionably written.) He excelled in tutorials, achieving highly in his participation mark for he could talk, and talk, and talk about each book, was willing to debate fiercely in defence of those he loved, and dish out criticism to those he felt lacking. All art deserved critique. That wasn't the issue.

Writing, however. There was so little back and forth in that. No one looking upon him as his eyes shone with passion and his words spilled out with poetry. No, just him, alone at a computer, having to use other people's words to pit against or back up his own. What was with that? As if an opinion were only worthy if it exists in reference to someone else's.

His grades were consistently good, but the essays were the part of his degree that he found work rather than pleasure, and usually they were produced in a last minute blur of panic. He always set out with the good intention of careful planning and time management, and yet... Well. Things like this happened.

Hello, procrastination shopping.

He's so busy admiring the way his skinny jeans define his slim legs that he nearly bumps into someone, looking up at the last moment.

“Oh!”

The Qunari boy from the park looks down at him, mouth curled in that easy smile and a warm chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Do you ever look where you're going?” he say.

“Fancy bumping into you again,” Dorian says at the same time, their voices clashing. They both laugh.

“Watch yourself, little witch. I'm going to plough you down one of these days.”

_Oh, if only._

“It's Dorian.”

“Dorian.” The boy nods, already shifting to step around him. “Bull. I'm sure I'll see you again.”

Dorian watches in despair as he heads off. What does a boy have to do to get noticed around here?

*

Tweet:

Look at my beautiful new boots!

Favourites

6

*

“How's the essay going?”

“Don't ask.”

It is the day before his deadline and Dorian is a mess. He's in a pair of soft grey pyjama trousers and a baggy Great Gatsby sweater. His hair is still a sleep ruffled mess, his bed a rumpled mass of duvets, and he is sat in the middle of it, surrounded by sheets of notes. His laptop is propped on his knee. There is a half empty jar of Nutella on the bedside table.

Cassandra laughs.

“I brought you some toast,” she says. “To go with that Nutella, perhaps.”

“Thanks.” He looks at her with big, pitiful eyes, silently pleading her pity. He does not receive it. She simply huffs out another laugh.

“You can do it,” she says, moving back towards the door of his room. “Just think of how good tomorrow night will be when you no longer have to stress.”

That is a valid point, but their celebratory night seems so far when he still has 2143 words to go.

*

Tumblr post:

Haven't seen the cute Qunari guy again, which is upsetting. I did finish my Victorian Literature essay at long last, though, so I guess that's something.

Seriously though, he's so dreamy. Have I mentioned how dreamy he is? He told me his name is Bull, which, coincidentally, is exactly what I'd like to ride him like.

Anyway I look like crap today so here's a photo from Tuesday when I was gorgeous.

37 notes.

*

He is in his going out clothes. Jeans so thigh they look practically painted on, but with stylish tears down along the legs. The v of his shirt dips low enough to display a teasing amount of chest, and printed along the front of it are the changing phases of the moon. He's thrown on a few necklaces; one of a skull, one of a snake, and one of a green emerald as well as a collection of his rings to complete the look. Also, his new boots are getting their first outing.

“How do I look?”

“Like a gay prostitute. But not one of the classy ones, the really trashy ones on street corners that you just know are shooting up heroine through their eyeballs.”

“Sera, darling, I'm not sure you fully understand how eyes work.”

“Well, okay. Not the eyeball. It's actually the soft tissue at the corner of the eye. Like shooting into the sinuses. Hits fast.”

“Do I want to know how you know that?” Dorian glances over his shoulder, slicking his lips with red tinted Vaseline.

“I'm full of interesting facts.” Sera sticks her tongue out at Dorian as she pours herself another shot. She's dressed in red shorts and suspenders, over a yellow t-shirt and black leggings with emoji faces printed on them that match her yellow converse.

“At least I don't look like a pride parade vomited me up.”

“You're right. The cheap porn look is far superior.”

“Will you two stop bickering like children.” Cassandra enters the room, clad in a red skater dress over black leggings, with a thick, black belt around her waist that emphasises her figure. Dorian wolf whistles. She gives him her best bitch face. “The taxi will be here shortly. Are we ready?”

“Almost,” Sera says. “Shots first.”

“That's the best thing you've suggested all evening,” Dorian agrees.

*

His snapchat is a series of photographs that begin with him, looking gorgeous in the dim lighting of his bedroom. Some with Sera photobombing in the bathroom. Then there's a few of Cassandra looking annoyed as they both sandwich her into photographs with them, and short clips of everyone's grimaces as they down shots.

*

The club is warm and loud and packed close with bodies. Dorian has a third of a bottle of shots in him and can already feel the nice buzz of it. They meet up with their rest of their groups, and several drinks later he is on the floor, moving among the crowd.

Sera was the first to disappear, off to some dark corner with a small, dark haired elf girl. Cullen has since disappeared, Isabella and Fenris have vanished out to the smoking area, and he could swear that Cassandra was beside him just a moment ago. He is alone, now, though, but too tipsy to care, swept up in the lights and the noise of the place.

He leans back when he feels a firm body press against his back, just enjoying the feel of being close to someone when he hears that familiar chuckle in his ear.

“Little witch.”

He twirls, flashing his most dazzling (read: drunk) smile up at Bull.

“Dorian, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bull's eyes drag down over him and Dorian feels a stirring in the pit of his stomach. He's just wearing a pair of faded jeans and a plaid button down, but Bull still looks good enough to have saliva building beneath Dorian's tongue.

“May I buy you a drink?”

“You may.”

When he wakes the next morning, he can't remember beyond that.

*

You have a new friend request from Iron Bull.

Accept.

*

Dorian is so hungover he thinks he might die. Then he goes through the rest of his snapchat story, and perhaps, maybe, it's actually shame that will kill him.

He takes a few minutes to delete all the bleary eyed, smudged eyeliner, sweat slick, flat haired photos of himself. Can't let his public see him at any less than his best. He does a run through his other social sites to check, but apart from a few lovely photos from earlier in the night on instagram and tumblr, they're clean.

Phew.

He drops his phone and sinks back into bed when he hears the facebook chat noise. His hand automatically raises the phone above his head and he squints to bring the letters into focus. A soft noise of victory escapes him when he sees a message from Bull, but it turns into a hiss of pain when the phone slips from his unsteady hand and thwacks him in the face.

He hates that.

Beside Bull's profile picture (a shot of him with two traffic cones over his horns, posed by a phone box with roads work sign) reads: Little witch! You really are magic. I've never seen absinthe disappear like that before.

 _Oh Maker_ , Dorian thinks. Then replies the same.

Bull: How are you feeling?

Dorian: Awful.

Dorian: You?

Bull: Not too bad. I don't really get hangovers.

Dorian: Lucky you.

Bull: Do you want to do breakfast?

Dorian: I don't know if I'm fit to be seen.

Bull: I've had my tongue in your mouth, I think I can bear to see you without gel in your hair.

_Wait, what?_

Dorian: Wait, what?

Bull: What are you whating at?

Dorian: Your tongue. My mouth.

Bull: You don't remember? I'm a little offended.

Dorian: I was very drunk.

Bull: Now I feel like I've taken advantage. Can I just say, in my defence, I was also drunk, and you initiated, and were very persistent.

Bull: And handsy.

Dorian: Oh Maker.

Bull: So, breakfast?

*

Yik Yak:

Nothing worse than making out with a hot boy but being too drunk to remember it haha am I right

3 upvotes.

*

Dorian shows up in sunglasses, and oversized sweater that looks like it has coloured crayons melted down over it, skinny jeans, and black and white brogues. His hair is uncharacteristically ruffled. When he removes his glasses, his eyes are bloodshot but still outlined in black. Well, he doesn't want to look like complete shit on his first date.

Bull is annoyingly chipper. He gives Dorian a firm, one armed squeeze when they meet, and ushers him into the cafe. He orders a full fry and doesn't seem at all daunted by the prospect of eating it. Dorian settles for an omelette and some toast, and pokes at it delicately. He knows it's better to have something in his stomach, but it's crashing around so much he's afraid any food may upset it.

“So, last night. Care to fill me in.” He almost doesn't want to know.

“Well, we did some shots. Then we did a lot of dancing. Then you pressed me against a wall and kissed me for quite a while; that was nice. Then more dancing. Then your friends collected you to take you home.”

“That's all?”

“That's all.”

“I didn't embarrass myself?”

“Not at all. Not that I can recall. Although, you did give me a fake number.”

“What?” Dorian looks up with surprise. That's definitely not something he would do intentionally.

“Yeah, some angry asshole who did not at all appreciate my lovely good morning text.”

“Read out the number to me,” Dorian says. Bull does so. “Ah, I've just got two of the numbers mixed up. That should be 68, not 86. Sorry.”

Bull laughs.

“No harm.”

“No harm,” Dorian repeats, relieved.

*

The selfie of them he posts on instagram gets 23 likes within the first couple of hour.

*

Bull walks him home and kisses him briefly on the doorstep. Dorian wants more, but perhaps not when he's got the dry, cloying after taste of a night of drinking.

A few days later they go to the cinema. They hold hands in the dark. This time, Dorian invites Bull in, and they spend a good half an hour making out on his bed. Bull leaves him excited and frustrated, constantly wanting more.

The first time they fuck, it is in Bull's bed. Dorian writhes and moans and drags his nails over Bull's strong, broad back as he stretches him open; first with his fingers, then with his cock. Dorian has never been with a Qunari, and it is all he could have imagined. The stretch burns, but in the most pleasant way. At first, he is not sure he will be able to take it, but Bull is so patient with him.

He works him open one finger at a time, taking it oh so slow. Dorian wriggles and pleads, and is so desperate he feels he's going to burst if he doesn't get more right _now,_ but despite his demands, Bull never increases his speed. He gets up to three fingers, and once Dorian is comfortably taking them, he works in a fourth. Dorian makes a high, keening noise. Bull's fingers are long and thick, and he can really feel the fourth one. Bull's fingertips brush against his prostate to distract him and all he can do is pant in response.

So he's well prepared when Bull finally lines up against him. His fingers brush through Dorian's hair and move to cup his jaw, firm but gentle. Dorian, filthy as always, turns and takes them in his mouth, sucking and twirling his tongue around the tips. Bull laughs.

“Ready, little witch?”

Dorian nods in slow, languid movements, hazy with lust. There is still some resistance as Bull pushes in, but he is slow, and steady, and it is not long before his hips are brushing against Dorian's ass. He keeps his slow pace at first, letting Dorian get accustomed, but Dorian is so ready to be fucked, and the rolling of his hips back against Bull is too much to resist. Soon he is gripping Dorian's hips and pressing forward into him fast and hard. Dorian moans, _finally,_ gripping the bedsheets tightly. The bed rocks beneath the force of them, the headboard clapping along with the rhythm of their bodies meeting and parting.

When his orgasm finally hits it is so strong that little flecks of green spark from his fingertips. Bull fucks him through it, his lower lip caught between his teeth. His face is screwed up with the effort, and his skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat. When he follows Dorian over, it is with a noise somewhere between a moan and a roar.

He pulls out gently, disposes of the condom, and gathers Dorian into his arms. Dorian's head falls against his shoulder. His breathing is still uneven. His heart beats hard against his chest. He is shaking; just barely, but still.

“Was that okay?” Bull asks quietly.

“That was fucking incredible.”

*

He posts a photo of them on tumblr:

finally rode the Bull

42 notes.

 


End file.
